Visiting Hours Are Over
by Magali1
Summary: Complete; Tim gets a visitor in jail, who doesn't go away.
1. Hour 1

A/N: I wrote this not too long ago and of all I've written, it's probably my favorite. I'm not sure how many will like it, it's Tim/Lyla (as is my comfort zone when writing) and yet at the same time I tried to go beyond that, so...I'm not sure, but the end result I really enjoyed writing. I hope those who have read my fic on this site enjoy it too.

* * *

"Riggins! You have a visitor."

"Is it my brother?" he asks, not getting down from the top of his bunk. He hears them opening up his cell door, the automatic tracks squeaking. He hates it so much. He climbs off the top, landing lightly on his feet and walking over to the door, turning around and placing his hands behind his back.

The cuffs don't bother him anymore. He wonders if there's something wrong with that, how you get used to it or something. He just figures it's a necessary evil. He is in jail after all.

"Not your brother," the guard, one of the nice ones, Tony, says. He chuckles. "Pretty girl."

His eyes widen. That could be anyone. "Uh…who is she?"

"Dark hair, big doe eyes. Have to tell you she's driving some of the guys wild in the visiting room. They can't stop looking at her."

He narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything, unsure who they're talking about. Becky? He warned Becky the first time she visited, about two weeks after he was in that if she ever returned he was going to personally see to it that she never lived another happy moment of her life again. So far she'd heeded that promise. But she was stubborn.

Maybe it was Tyra. Billy said she dyed her hair dark. Said that she was thinking of coming to visit him.

He walks into the visiting room, freezing in his tracks when he sees her sitting at the metal table to the far side of the room. Tony unlocks his cuffs, leading him by the elbow towards the table. She stands automatically, but Tony holds his hand out. "Take a seat ma'am."

"Sorry," she whispers, sitting back down, waiting for him to take a seat. He's only been in two months, so his visiting rules are still a little harder to deal with. He doesn't get his wrists free, for instance.

Tony takes his left hand, locking the handcuff around it and then to the chain on the side of the table. "You get 30 minutes," he says.

"This won't take long," he calls over his shoulder, before turning back to face her. He shakes his head, eyes closing, tired. "What are you doing here Lyla?"

"It's…midterm break again." She takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it and places an envelope on the table. "I...they said that I…I could give you this. They'll take it when I leave and give it to you. I got you some things. I…some books and magazines…"

"I don't want anything from you."

She looks like she's going to cry. He doesn't want her pity. "Why are you here?" he whispers.

"Because," she says, her hands fisting together on the table. She's been biting her nails, he notices, seeing the jagged edges of the red fingernail polish. Her hair is darker than it used to be, tied back from her face. She's wearing a black button down shirt and jeans and her cowboy boots. She doesn't look any different. "Because I wanted to. When I heard what happened. I felt…felt like you needed someone who cared about you and…and I wanted to come here. It's selfish. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I don't need you," he says, his voice dull. He really doesn't need her. He's done just fine without her. His life is over because of his brother, not because of her being gone. He doesn't want her pity or her judgment. Or her help.

He feels like he let her down. He doesn't want her to see him like this. "Can you please go?" he asks. He shakes his head slightly. "This is harder than you think Lyla. I don't want you here."

"You didn't…" she hiccups, the tears trickling down her face. "You didn't let me down Tim. If that's what you think. You did a…a very dumb thing…"

Of course she thinks he did it. Always getting into stupid schemes with his equally stupid brother. Why can't he ever learn? He's already heard it from her; he doesn't need to hear it now that he's sitting in front of her wearing an orange jumpsuit. "Lyla," he whispers.

"Hear me out," she says, holding her hand up, reaching to take his hand, but Tony moves forward, so she draws it back, whispering she's sorry. She lowers her gaze to her white knuckles and clears her throat. "Tim you did a dumb thing, but you did something…something that is why I think I will always care about you. You took care of your brother. That's…that's very admirable."

"I'm in jail because my brother is an idiot." And so am I, he thinks.

"You're in jail for something you didn't do because you love your family enough to do it," she whispers. She smiles, sad, the tears staining her cheeks pink and shiny. "And that's why I care for you and it's…it's why I'll…I'll go now."

He lifts his eyes up to meet hers. The only one who ever loved him as unconditionally as he seems to love everyone else around him. "Please don't come back," he whispers.

"I can't make that promise," she says. She leans quickly over the table and kisses him hard, already breaking the kiss and pulling back when Tony rushes back towards the table.

"Ma'am you have to leave now," Tony says.

She broke the rules, he thinks, seeing her nod in understanding. She lifts her fingers in a wave goodbye, waiting for him to be cuffed again and taken back to the door before he hears the other door open and close.

At his cell, Tony shrugs, sad. "Sorry Tim. Open your mouth."

He sighs, opening his mouth as they shine a flashlight in to ensure she didn't pass him anything. He steps back into his cell and they remove the handcuffs, the door closing, and the squeaky track screaming in the silence of the block, since it is exercise time.

An hour later Tony returns to the cell and passes him the bag of stuff she's brought him. He climbs off the bunk later that night and opens the bag, studying the car magazines she always said were crap but he liked. There are a few books too.

She's written a note on one, _The Scarlet Letter_, "Terrible book, but maybe you'll finally read it." There's another note written into one of the covers. "This is you more than you realize." It's that mouse book Landry had to read to him. That really isn't about mice. He takes the third one, looking at the cover. It's French. He opens it again and sees her nice handwriting in the cover.

"You might like this one, the title translates to, The Miserable Ones, and isn't that just Dillon?"

He frowns, climbing back up onto the bunk and opens the page, beginning to read.


	2. Hour 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews :) There are three chapters after this, all are written. I'll try to space them out, because this is probably one of the most angsty and "serious" fics I've written, as well as the first time I've really written dark!Tim, so bear with me if it's not as in-character as some might like it to be. Enjoy :)

* * *

"Riggins! Visitor!"

"Is it my brother?" he asks. It's his default question when he hears he has a visitor.

"It's a girl."

He frowns, climbing off the bunk. He holds his hands out; they cuff them, and lead him from the block to the visiting room, the door opening once he's seated at the table. His eyes are downcast, his shoulders slumped. He's been in over four months now. It's eaten completely away at him, that gnawing feeling in his stomach. He closes his eyes, briefly, wondering who it is now. Mindy? Tyra? Better not be…

He looks up when he hears her soft "Hey."

His eyes close again and he lowers his head back down in defeat. Damn her. Can't she just listen? "I told you not to visit me again."

"Sorry, I'm not as good at following the rules as I used to be." She sits across from him, her hands folded at the edge of the table, her voice quiet. "How are the books?"

"They're okay."

"Did you finally read _The Scarlet Letter_?"

"Yes. It sucks." It feels a lot like how he wonders his life will be when he gets out of jail. With a big red letter painted on his chest to tell everyone he was a failure.

"And _Of Mice and Men_?"

"Sucks too." It reminds him too much like his brother and him, even if the book is about best friends. He wants to shoot his brother, but prison sucks and he doesn't want to chance it once he gets out. Hopefully in six months.

She cocks her head. "What about _Les Miserables_?"

He doesn't say anything about that book, because he actually admits that he likes it. A man who goes to jail for a crime he really didn't commit. A crime to help his family, is that really a crime? Right now he thinks it might be. He nods. "Yeah," he whispers. There's no point in lying or anything, it doesn't matter. "It's good."

"I have some more."

"Trying to make me into a better person or something Garrity?" He lifts his eyes to meet her big dark ones. They're so earnest. She sees the good in everything. He wishes for once she would just accept things are bad and that they are never good. They're always bad. He sighs. "You always were doing that. Trying to turn me into something I wasn't. Newsflash, you don't live in Dillon anymore, you need to stop visiting me and go live your own life."

"I was never changing you Tim. I was only trying to take what was there and make it the best it could possibly be," she whispers. She lifts her eyebrows. "Something that you can be. Something you never saw in yourself. You should take some classes Tim. They have programs here. Do something other than sit in your cell and sulk because you're a good person who refuses to admit it. You're a good person who can do good things. Great things."

"Why are you here?" he demands, his voice louder.

"Because!" she exclaims. She lowers her voice when Tony cocks his head in their direction, already giving them a warning look. She hisses across the table at him, dark and angry. It startles him. That sudden change in her mood. Her voice grows colder. "Because I may not be with you anymore, but I will always care for you and you will always be important to me, so I want to help. It isn't to make me feel better or to take on another hopeless project like Lyla Garrity always does, it's because I care for you, stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Yes, you're stupid right now. Change you?" She laughs, harsh, leaning back from the table. "I'm not trying to change you. I never tried to change you. I wanted the world for you Tim. If I could get the entire world for you, I would. If I had to sell my soul for it, I would. You're such a good person that it's all you deserve but you're so stupid you refuse to admit it to yourself. The reason you're here and not out there is because you're such a good person. You're too good for Billy. I hope he sees that one day."

I don't know about that, he thinks, but he's starting to believe it. He has nightmares about it. Nightmares about everything. He wakes up in cold sweats and he has panic attacks, where he can't breathe and he feels like there's an electrical current under his skin.

"And I'm done though Tim. I'm done with wanting to give my soul for someone else. I'm tired of wanting to give myself up for someone else's happiness." She purses her lips. She lifts her eyebrow, whispering again. "Your guard friend told me you have nightmares."

I'll kill you Tony, he thinks, darting his eyes towards Tony, who looks away, as though he knows. He shakes his head. "So?"

"I just…I'm sorry."

His teeth grit and he leans forward, staring at her for a second. He cocks his head, his voice quiet. "What part of I don't want your pity or you do you not understand?" He leans back, his shoulders slumping. "Go away Lyla. Go be…someone else."

She lifts her hand and gets up, turning to look down at him, shaking her head, finally accepting it. "Yeah. Yeah I'll go. I'm such an idiot for trying to give up my life so someone else can be happy in theirs. I'm done with that Tim. Figured you should know."

He smiles a little, colder, calling out to her when she gets to the door. "Don't come back Garrity!"

"Oh don't worry about that."

He gets back to his cell, ignoring Tony's teasing about how the old ladies make a guy want to stay in jail. He crawls back up on his bunk and returns to _Les Miserables_. It's his 20th time reading it. He'd never have admitted in his life that he'd like reading, but well, there's nothing better to do and it keeps the other inmates from bothering him, if he keeps to himself.

A few minutes later Tony pushes the bag of books into his cell. He opens the bag, removing _The Count of Monte Cristo_, _Moby Dick, Frankenstein_, and… "Oh come on," he mumbles, turning over a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. She made him watch two different movie versions of the book and in both of them he passed out after five minutes.

Oh well, he thinks, opening the cover and seeing her note. "This is just to annoy you."

That afternoon he stops Tony on his rounds. "Think I can get in some of the classes here?" he asks.

"Sure. Oh and I probably shouldn't tell you, but the warden did your monthly review." Tony gives him a thumbs up. "You got 'Outstanding' on your sixth review in a row. They're giving you more visiting privileges and more time outside. Adding classes to that almost 100% guarantees you early release and parole. Plus, you might want to go to the talk that's happening today in the main yard, some guy from the pipeline is coming to talk about working on it, up in Alaska, once your parole's up. Get a job, get some classes, and have your good reviews, you'll be out of here in months."

Yeah, great, he thinks, shaking his head slightly. He collapses onto his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Alaska. Interesting.

And he finds it funny the only time he gets good grades are when he's in prison.

He closes his eyes, his heart beginning to race. No, he thinks, closing his eyes tight. He takes a few steadying breaths, doing what the stupid prison doctor told him to do when word got back to them about these stupid attacks. They actually wanted to put him on medication. Stupid.

And the panic slowly begins to subside.

He just wishes it would go away forever. Maybe along with him.

Just go away somewhere else, forever.


	3. Hour 3

**A/N: ** This was my favorite chapter to write and I can't explain why. I know there's not been many reviews, compared to some of my other fics, so I'm not sure if anyone is enjoying this, but I hope that those who are sticking with it are enjoying it. As for Tim's sudden reading habit, well, he's in jail so what else is he going to do? LOL. It continues in the next two chapters, just kind of as a thread linking all five chapters together. And **ICanStopAnytime**, I did add an Eric mention in this chapter, because it kind of seamlessly fit into Tim's thought process. To be honest, this fic kind of originated as an Eric and Tim fic, but I got so nervous writing Eric (because I really don't believe I can do him justice or understand his character enough) that I gave up. I do have another Eric and Tim piece in the works, kind of going from high school through prison and then beyond, but it's got a lighter edge to it. Anyway, enough rambling! Enjoy the fic :)

* * *

It is right before what he imagines is the beginning of the school year when he's called to the picnic tables outside for a visitor. He can now take his visits outside because he's such a good little prisoner, he thinks, rolling his eyes as they let him into the yard, not even bothering to cuff him now.

She stands from the table, walking slowly towards him. "Hey," she whispers.

"Hey."

She reaches for him, hugging him tight. He knows that they're going to search him once he goes back to his cell, but he returns the hug, letting her go and walking to the table, taking a seat and turning to face her. He just stares at her, waiting for her to make the first move. He could ask her why she's there, but he knows she won't answer and he also knows she probably will be back, even if he says go away.

She sits across from him, her hands folding together. "Your hair is really long," she comments. She smiles. "Almost as long as mine."

"Yeah, well, I don't really get a chance to go to the salon."

They don't say a word. He narrows his eyes. This is different. She's…nervous.

She sighs, looking at her hands again. She starts to pick at a broken piece of wood on the picnic table. "I'm going back to Vanderbilt in three days and then I'm going to the Sorbonne to study abroad in France for a year. I wanted to see you one last time."

He doesn't smile. He can't. "That's nice of you." No it isn't.

"And I wanted to tell you that I'm not going to visit you anymore. For good, this time."

He nods. "Okay." Good.

"Do you want to know why?"

Sure, why the hell not. He's been telling her for the last, well almost year now, to stop visiting him.

"Why?" he whispers.

"Because I need to let you go. I've been thinking about why I'm…I'm so invested and I just…" she sighs, smiling sadly. "I'm still in love with you and it's never going to happen between us Tim. I realized you've been saying that now for the last year and I've been ignoring it. I thought I had. I mean…I really thought I'd gotten over you after I left the first time. I had a couple of boyfriends and I lived my life the way I wanted. Then this all happened with you here and…I don't know. I just know I need to stop it. If I want a good, healthy, happy life, I need to let you go and realize that it's just a fairytale. You and me."

"Lyla."

"No, don't say anything…you've moved on Tim. You let me go a long time ago. When I went to school the first time, it was like you just disappeared…" She sighs, her eyes shining. "I was so happy with my new life that I didn't even really miss you. Then I came back and gave you false hope and I'm sorry because I went back to school and it was like you disappeared too." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes. "I am sorry. I wish we could be together, but..."

He looks up, nodding. "I wish we could too." His voice cracks. It's the first time he's said that out loud. After all this. Seeing her again.

"I love you."

"I know." He sighs, lifting an eyebrow. He doesn't smile. It just is too much effort. "Move on Lyla." He looks off past the barbed wire and the razor fences and the watchtowers, to the fields and the roads beyond the walls he's called home for the last ten months. He's tired. So very, very tired. "You need to move on. Meet a guy. Go to France. Have kids. Fall in love with someone who isn't going to just drag you down. You deserve it."

She blinks furiously, clearing her throat. "Okay." She reaches across the table, squeezing his hand hard. He suddenly turns it over, gripping hers just as hard. He suddenly needs that connection. And then it's desperate. He feels his heart start to race.

No, not now, he thinks, closing his eyes.

She sobs. "I'll miss you. Have dreams Tim," she whispers. She nods, smiling widely. "Have dreams and be with someone who will love you just as much as we loved each other."

Loved, he thinks, noting the past tense. It's really at that point in their lives, isn't it? They don't love each other anymore. Not like that.

"Goodbye Garrity."

"Good luck Tim."

He doesn't stand, just watches her leave. This is it. It's really over now.

He gazes back out at nothing, his shoulders slumping and eyes closing. He reaches to cover his face with his hands, barely able to stand it. He wants to just die. He opens his eyes, looking around at where he is.

And the panic sets in.

It's over.

He takes a few breaths, gasping. Oh God. It's really over now. He reaches to bury his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his hair, eyes wide in understanding.

She's gone.

"Hey! Riggins! You have another visitor."

Please don't be Billy, please, please, he thinks, unable to handle his brother right now. He takes a few deep breaths, swallowing, closing his eyes tight, fighting the panic attack, focusing on making it go away. It fades again, but it will be back. They always come back, usually at night.

He waits, sitting on the edge of the picnic table's bench, his hands between his knees, his eyes closing slowly when he hears Billy's loud "Timmy!"

Not now, he sighs, turning his head slightly, watching Billy take the spot she just left. "Hi Billy," he whispers.

The entire time Billy talks about being a coach and trying to be nice to him and trying to suck up to him, like he always, always does when he visits…

He just wonders what he's going to do now.

It's all gone now. Every last bit of it.

Everyone leaves him, he thinks, his eyes closed. Jason left him and never came back, hasn't even written him back or called or visited. Tyra's gone, not that he really thinks of her at all. Everyone else is…college or something, why would they associate with him. Coach…he writes Coach every few weeks and only gets a couple of responses, a couple of visits. Even Coach. He still can't quite wrap his mind around it, but he knows he shouldn't be surprised. Why would Coach want to visit him? The failure. The screwup.

I let him down, he thinks, cringing inside. I let him down. I let everyone down and…and now this is my life.

It's really over now. There is no more Six. No more football.

No more her.

All of it disappeared when he walked into the front door of this place.

Billy says something about Texas Forever, he doesn't know why or what the context is about, because he isn't listening. He never listens to Billy, the one person he wants nothing to do with is the only one who comes to visit.

He shakes his head, looking up at the sun, whispering. "Screw Texas Forever."

That left him too.


	4. Hour 4

A/N: Enjoy this chapter. It was my second favorite to write :) And thank you for the reviews! The last chapter will go up tomorrow and it is set significantly farther into the future than this one.

* * *

Tyra leaves for school after Christmas break and while Tim wishes he might see her again, he suspects, as he lets go of her hand and watches her go back to her car; that he won't. He will, of course, because they are in-laws and Billy and Mindy aren't going away any time soon. But he's not seeing her in any other way again, even if she did kind of hint at it.

It's just something in her eyes he recognizes. It was the same in Lyla's eyes, when he let her get on the bus.

And when he watched her leave the prison for the last time.

It's over. Anything else is just a dream.

He sets about building his house. He doesn't go too big, but then suddenly the frame is huge and the foundation is set for a gigantic house he knows he doesn't need, but he will finish, even if it kills him. He's decided to find it funny if he dies building his house, because it's just going to be poetic. Or ironic as all the books he's read have taught him.

The construction crew he starts work with is cool. He gets a job in spite of his felon status, which he finds is a giant burden, but only because the contractor he applied with knew him from football. The guy told him if he kept up his work ethic, he'd recommend him for the state contractor test in Austin, to get a license and start managing jobs rather than working them.

It's almost the middle of February, he's freezing his ass off, his fingers are numb, and yet he's working on the house. Today he's alone, but usually when he's done with work or on the weekends some of the guys from his crew will come by for a few hours. They're starting to help out a lot more, finding it kind of funny that he has all this land and just wants to build on it. Plus, if they work on it, he can get discounts on all the wood and the equipment; he might actually finish this damn thing before he's dead.

He hears her call out his name.

"Valjean!"

Freezing on the second floor, he lifts his head, peering down to see her standing outside of Buddy's Suburban, her hands on her hip, looking up. Wow. He covers any surprise, walking along the plywood frame towards the ladder serving as his staircase. He sets down his nailgun, slowly making his way down the ladder before resting his feet in what will be his foyer. He smiles a little, seeing her gaze following him.

Very slowly he walks towards her. Valjean. Nice.

He casually calls out his standard greeting for her of the last year. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to see what you looked like beyond bars." She quirks her lip. "Maybe I should call you Monsieur Le Maire."

It's a bad joke, but a decent hint towards the book she knows he spent the last year reading, and he smiles a little, able to sort of talk about it. It's been awhile, he's worked through some of that initial…anger. Although he still does occasionally get the nightmares. They're just not as frequent.

He steps out of the house's frame and across the newly built porch, down those steps, taking off his work gloves, shoving them in the back pocket of his jeans. "So what are you doing here?" he asks, his breath coming out as puffs of air in the February frost. He shrugs. "Thought you were in France."

"Visiting my dad for a couple days," she answers. She smiles up at him, after scanning the house, the smile grows wider and she turns to look at him, positively beaming. "This looks great."

There's a very different vibe here from when he was with Tyra. It's very similar, that nostalgic feeling, but it's…he really can't figure it out, just that his heart is kind of making strange jumps in his chest, even when he knows it shouldn't. It didn't do that before. Her eyes are…they kind of remind him like when Stevie figures something out for the first time. Pure happiness.

Happiness for me, he thinks, frowning a little. That's…different.

Not really from her though.

She reaches into her bag, still grinning. "I brought you a housewarming gift."

"Oh?"

She turns a book over to him, with a big bow on it. He actually laughs, which is still kind of hard to do. He thinks it sounds like a cough these days, like he has to relearn to laugh. He removes the bow and reads the title aloud, chuckling. "_Little House on the Prairie_. Nice. Real nice Garrity."

"Well this isn't a prairie nor is it a little house, but…" she shrugs, her hands going back in the pockets of her fancy coat. "I thought you might…want to keep reading. I find that disappearing into a world that isn't real…helps sometimes. When I feel…upset."

That's nice of her. He nods, holding the book tightly in his hands. "Thank you." He cocks his head, smiling a little. It is so good to see her, he…didn't think it would be. "Are you going to be…around?"

She smiles again, her eyes downcast and voice trembling. "I'm going back to Nashville tomorrow. This is kind of a quick visit to see my dad. My…" she takes a deep breath, her eyes soft, meeting his. "My boyfriend's family is visiting Vanderbilt and I…I'm going to meet them."

"Sounds great," he whispers. He smiles again. It's good. He can't backtrack again. Even he is smart enough to recognize that.

She nods, rising on her toes to kiss him lightly, her hand patting his chest. "I hope you finish your house and…and find a good job. I hope you work through what you have with Billy. My…I…" She swallows hard, her voice cool, but curious. "My dad tells me that you and Tyra are…"

He frowns, but doesn't say anything, watching her wrestle with various emotions. She finally sighs, whispering. "I guess…good for you guys, if you could work it out, but…nevermind."

They stand there, not saying anything, until she tosses her bangs out of her eyes again, looking up at him. "I...I hope you…" she smiles, her eyes wet and shiny. Her voice cracks. "I hope you get everything you ever dreamed of, because I know you can. For what it's worth. From me. Me of all people, so I mean…I know you probably don't care what I think or want…"

He frowns a little, unsure why he wants to correct her. He shakes his head a little. "I'm not with Tyra anymore."

"Oh."

"I was," he says, looking away from her sudden start towards him. His voice is barely audible. "Maybe…I don't know. Maybe someday, our…paths will cross." He closes his eyes, releasing a long breath. Maybe he's even talking about her and their paths, not him and Tyra. He doesn't know. Although he doesn't think he can do that again. He's too tired.

And her support… "And your opinion means a lot to me," he says. He shrugs, throwing her words back at her. "For what it's worth." He looks down at the book. "Bye."

She nods, reaching to hug him quickly, with just one arm, pulling away almost the instant she wraps it over his neck, her eyes darting at anything but him. "Goodbye."

And she's already gone, the car rumbling down the dirt road. He watches it, holding the book it his hands. It really was different with Tyra. He still isn't sure about Billy. He knows he's never going to be the same, but maybe he can be sort of how he was before. Himself.

At least he can…stand to look at his brother. They just needed more time. It's a lot to forgive. And he's the one who did it when he didn't have to.

He sets the book down in the front seat of his truck and returns to his house.

That evening he starts to read the kid's book, even though he knows he doesn't have to anymore.

But he wants to and…and he wants to do what he wants. Just what he wants.

He's going to take a page from her book and do what he wants to do. Others be damned, he's tired of doing things for everyone else.

People need to do things for me now, he vows, returning to the book.


	5. Hour 5

**A/N:** Here's the last chapter. I do hope people enjoyed it. I've got an angsty fic kind of in the works, a Tim and Coach one (not sure about it, but we'll see, experimenting is one of the best parts of writing). Thank you for those who have reviewed, I'm glad you enjoyed it! One of the things that I just can't fathom (as a Tyra fan) is her going back to Tim. It means one of them lost their dream (hers to leave Dillon forever and his to stay in Texas forever) but Lyla I could see eventually returning. That's kind of where this chapter comes from. Enjoy!

* * *

_Twelve Years Later_

"Becky go away!" he yells, settled in his La-Z-Boy with a football game, a beer, and some stupid book he can't seem to put down about a guy named Gatsby who was still in love with some girl named Daisy. What a stupid name, Daisy. He hates that she still randomly will send him a book, as though she's forcing him to keep his mind going. He sometimes hates himself that he still reads them when he has no reason to keep doing it.

He sighs, throwing it aside and gets up, going to the front door. "Becky, come on, I told you, I told Luke, and I'm not watching your kid…"

He flings open the front door, trailing off. "Anymore." He smiles a little. What a surprise. It'd been…a very, very long time.

His voice brightens, but he's wary. "Garrity."

"Riggins," she greets him, a smile flirting on her lips, her eyebrow lifted. And then her eyes grow huge, almost outraged. "You cut off all your hair!"

He runs his hand over his hair, which is yes, very, very short now. He shrugs. "It was getting in my eyes."

"And you have a beard!"

He wanted a change. He does what he wants now.

"You look like you joined the Army. Except for the beard."

"It's nice to see you too Garrity." He shakes his head, his voice soft. There's a bigger question than about his hair that needs answered. "What are you doing here?"

She smiles, holding up a bag. "I brought you something."

There's something missing.

Her eyes dart to it before he can register and then he sees it. The empty left hand. He sighs. Damnit Garrity. He rests his head on the doorframe, not allowing her entry. He's tired. Tired of all of this. He's defeated. "Garrity, visiting hours are over."

They've been over for a long time now, but she's as stubborn as Becky or Billy can be sometimes. He sees her once in awhile, usually when she's visiting Buddy. She's long since graduated, she's married, and she's living in California. Same as Tyra.

Except the last time he saw Tyra, a couple months ago, she still had a wedding ring on.

She purses her lips, not saying anything about her empty left hand, reaching into the bag and removing a book. "I thought you might need some more reading material."

"Library is closed."

"Tim."

"Where is your ring Garrity?" he demands. He's met the guy. Aiden, that's his name. And he isn't a bad guy. A total moron, but then again, anyone she'd marry would be a moron to him. Some investment banker she met at Stanford. Buddy hates the guy, which he finds funny, since Buddy always compares the two of them and the day he became better than any other guy in Buddy Garrity's eyes was probably a rather chilly day in hell.

She rolls her eyes, throwing her hands to the side. "I'm divorced, okay? Six months ago. My dad didn't tell you?"

No and for that he will seriously have to go kill Buddy. "No," he whispers. He shrugs. Even though it doesn't change things. "I'm sorry." If that's what you say to someone who is divorced.

She sighs. "I'm not. He cheated on me. Karma maybe. Kimberly may have been the love of his life, I don't know, but I slashed the tires on their cars, burned my wedding dress, cut my hair, and divorced him." She smiles a little, her voice softer. "Always had a penchant for the dramatic."

He narrows his eyes. "You slashed their tires?" He lifts his eyebrows. "Nice."

"Yeah, I had to do like a million hours of community service, but oh well."

"Garrity, I don't care." It's kind of…he feels a little proud of her. Not for breaking the law, that's bad, but for…that crazy streak of hers he only rarely saw. It doesn't matter anymore. He grits his teeth. "Visiting hours," he repeats. "Are over."

She blows out a breath, exasperated, before shrugging, her hands going to the sides, dropping to her thighs. "Wow," she says, harshly. "This is…I really just don't…don't even know what I'm doing here to be honest with you…visiting hours, you say, well…soooorry, guess I'll be…mpfh…"

It's the only way he thinks to just shut her up, so he kisses her, lifting her up into his arms. The first kiss in what has to be in over a decade.

It feels like…like finally having water after being in the desert. He's never felt more alive in…years. He drags her backwards from the porch, reaching for the door as leverage; she grips the back of his head, turning so she's the one stumbling backwards first into the house.

Her fingers move over the neck of his shirt, gripping as he begins to tear at her sweater, his hands trying to get beneath it. They can't stop to breathe, trying to get from where they're standing and trying to undress towards the stairs.

They trip on the rug near the staircase and fall into the foyer on the floor, a tangle of limbs, her lips smiling around his, giggling. "Ow," she laughs, her head knocking backwards onto the hardwood floor.

He doesn't smile, just leans over her, studying her face. She's loopy, her eyes sparkling and her bottom lip tugged behind her teeth, grinning madly. She's beautiful. Even after all this time, he still feels the same damn way about her.

I really shouldn't feel like this, he thinks, cocking his head as she grins up at him. Years and years and years later…he's over her. But it's…funny.

It's actually not funny, but it is.

And then he smiles. He really, really smiles.

And he laughs. For the first time in so long, he actually laughs, rolling onto his back, unable to stop, especially when she gets going beside him, giggling like a three-year old, like the fact that they've fallen on their asses is the funniest thing in the world.

It is. For him right now, it is the funniest thing in the world.

Until his laughter fades, realizing that this is not really the funniest thing in the world, but one of the saddest, turning his face towards her, his voice quiet. They can't do this. They're done with each other. He clears his throat, calm, soft. "I mean it Garrity. Visiting hours are over. You can't keep coming by like this. I don't want it."

"What if I told you that I'm not going to keep coming by?"

He smiles, sad, but accepting of it. "That's how it's gonna' be, then…that's how it will be, but…you need to go."

She purses her lips a little, an eyebrow lifting, turning her head on the floor. She speaks, husky. "What if I don't go? What if this time I stay?"

He frowns, studying her for a second. "You can't stay," he whispers. It isn't right. She has a real job. She's…well he can't remember what she does but he's sure it's important and something that can't be done in Dillon. He shakes his head, the decision made long, long ago, at a bus station in Dillon. "You can't stay here. You're meant for bigger things."

"All I ever wanted was for you to have the world. To have everything you ever dreamed…You wanted the same for me, right?"

"Right." Unfortunately, that is true.

"And if I told you that all I've been doing is what I wanted, for me…all of it was for me, even if…if all I realized I ever wanted was you? What would you do?"

He shrugs. "I'd say you're crazy Lyla Garrity. You can have the world, so why not have it? The rich banker husband in California? It's yours, take it, and go have it. Why want me instead? After all this time, like…like twelve or something years, why me?"

Somehow the words keep tumbling from his mouth, even if he doesn't want to say them. "The felon who didn't commit a crime, who broke your heart, who ruined his life, who tried to get back together with a girl he made miserable, and who still has nightmares and panic attacks about something that happened years ago…"

She interrupts, her fingers going to touch his lips, shushing him. She's quiet, reflective. "I want the guy who never went to class but at least could say he got into college, even if he didn't go. I want the guy who loved me so much that's all he wanted, no matter how unhealthy it was. I want the guy who went to prison so that his nephew could have a father, like he didn't. I want the guy who took his bare hands and his will and drive and built a house for his own. That's the guy I want, Tim." She smiles. She's crying again. "Are you that guy?"

He reaches for her fingers, drifting his across hers on the floor between them. Maybe, he thinks. He closes his eyes. "I don't want to play anymore games Lyla. I'm tired." So damn tired. He closes his eyes and then opens them a second later. She still isn't gone.

The bag sits by the open door. "What book did you bring me this time?"

"By a little known author, but I'm sure she'll burst out onto the scene after the world gets a taste of this." She sits up, tugging her bag towards her, removing a thick paperback, passing it towards him. She leans back on her elbows, looking around his foyer. "This is nice. Kind of like a house I'd dream of living in. Not too big, not too small…"

He looks at the cover. "Who is J.S. Taylor? I've never heard of this book." He frowns, his fingers drifting over the title _Full Hearts_. There's a picture of a football field.

"It's a pen-name, sort of. You know her as Julie Taylor Saracen."

"Little Jules wrote a book?" He's lost touch with a lot of them. Tyra tries to tell him things, but he's…he's of the mind that people need to move on. Or at least, that's what he should be doing.

"Yes. Turn to chapter six."

He flicks to chapter six, which is titled "The Good Girl and the Alcoholic." He lowers the book immediately. "I'm going to kill her."

"Read it before you threaten her with bodily harm. The one she has on Tyra and Landry's ill-fated relationship is called 'Beauty and the Geek'. There is a title for you and Tyra, but she just calls it 'Backtracking', so I mean, could be worse." She gets up, dusting off her jeans and picking up her bag, looking down at him. "I'm going to be staying a few days. My ex-husband took the house in the divorce."

This Lyla Garrity is very sure of herself and very take-charge, he thinks, lifting an eyebrow as she marches right by him outside. She does what she wants.

He kind of likes it.

He gets off the floor and goes to the living room, reading the chapter from first word to the end. He reads it again. And again. Just the one chapter. He frowns, setting it down on his knees when he finally can't read it anymore. He gets up and goes into the kitchen, where she's making dinner, like she's been here forever and not just an hour.

_"Visiting hours it seemed, were not over. In fact, it seems they may have been extended…permanently."_

"Hmm?"

"The last sentence of her chapter on us."

"Oh, did you like it?" She leans against the counter, smiling. "It made me cry the first time I read it. That someone who barely knew us the way Julie knew us could still be so observant of our…situation."

"You talked to her."

"She called, she was scared you'd completely shut her out and not tell her a damn thing. So I did." She smiles. "But…is she right Tim? Are the visiting hours over now?"

He runs his tongue over his teeth, smiling a little. He doesn't have an answer to that. It might be okay to give it a shot. To try and figure it out. Again. Maybe. See if it works with them as these…two new people.

The felon and the divorcee.

He just clicks his tongue, shrugging, turning away from the counter, not ordering her to get out, instead, throwing over his shoulder:

"I guess we'll have to see."

She giggles, grinning wide, her eyes dancing. "I look forward to reading that story."

As do I, he thinks, taking the book and returning to his chair, starting at the beginning.

**_THE END_**


End file.
